“We have the shooter. And I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry? Who is it?” Jane grabbed his arm. Then the look on Jake’s face stopped her.
One shooter. One victim. Domestic. Not Gracie. If she was missing, she wasn’t shot, because the medics had said the victim was being transported. If Jake was “sorry,” there was only one name to say. The lying, identity-stealing, child-abducting nutcase who’d caused so much misery for his wife and her sister and, yes, for herself. Creep, she thought.
“Lewis,” Jane said.
“No.” Jake shook his head. “Robyn.”
* * *
“Robyn? Is the shooter? Of who? Lewis? That’s horr—”
“Yeah,” Jake said. It was breaking protocol to tell Jane like this, but what the hell. “He’ll live, though, so—”
She took a step toward him, interrupting. “Does he know where Gracie is? Was she—there?”
“Nope. Long story.” Jake opened the surveillance room door, checked the lobby, made sure police sentries still kept people out. He knew the cops on the upper floors were keeping people in. The danger had been contained and extinguished. Except for the missing Gracie.
“Short version,” Jake continued. “DeLuca found Robyn. Says she was wild, weeping one minute, bitching the next. Self-defense, she swears. Says Lewis had threatened to take Gracie, then he threatened Robyn with a twenty-two. Just how she managed to wrestle a gun from her ‘crazed’ husband isn’t yet clear, but we’ll get to that.”
Jane had perched on the white counter under the monitors, the shifting video dancing shadows and light around her. “What if it was self-defense?”
“Then Lewis will be adding a set of handcuffs to his hospital attire. So look, Jane, Robyn says you’ll corroborate her story. She says she doesn’t want a lawyer. Just you.”
“Me?”
Jake watched her trying to process this. “And if she talks to us in front of you, it’s admissible.”
“What. About. Gracie?”
“She says she has no idea where Gracie is,” Jake said. “We’re still searching. But there are a hundred seventy-three rooms in this place.”
He saw the scenes on the security monitors shift and change as new digital images were transmitted from cameras placed throughout the hotel. Might he see the girl on these cameras? Was Jane right? Jake knew surveillance video was often sent to off-site security companies for archiving and storage.
Little did the hotel guests know. Except when a career-ruining transgression appeared, taped and undeniable, on a trashy news show: celebrities fighting in elevators, coked-up film stars trashing hotel rooms. So much for “security.” Those videos, once they went viral—who makes that stuff public, anyway?—could wreck a career.
“You up for it?” Jake asked. “It’s unorthodox for you to talk to a suspect. But it wasn’t our idea.”
“Robyn?” Jane said again. He heard the incredulity in her voice. “Is the shooter?”
“Yeah. Robyn,” Jake said. “I’m all for letting her stew up there for a bit. Let her wonder what’s going on, you know? But she claims you’ll back her up about Lewis. His problems. His volatility. His threats. Jane? Is that true? Did he threaten her? Or Gracie?”
Jane didn’t answer.
“Jane?” It must be tough for her to get dragged into the middle of a family squabble. Hell, more than squabble, this was attempted murder, potentially, and child abduction. Jane was not used to being part of the story, so he’d tread lightly. But he needed to tread semi-fast. Robyn could wait, but not for too long. And Gracie was still missing.
Now Jane’s eyes were on the monitors over his shoulder. Not looking at him.
“Jake,” Jane said. Still not looking at him.
“I know. It’s difficult.” Jake tried to sound reassuring and supportive. This would be an emotional tightrope for her. “But is it true?”
“Gracie,” Jane said.
“What? Right,” Jake said. “Gracie. Or Robyn.”
“No, Jake.” This time Jane pointed. “Gracie.”
56
It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. The words spun through Tenley’s brain, an endless loop of guilt. Finally, she blurted the words out loud, she couldn’t help it, and Brileen and her mom turned to her, each face mirroring the other’s surprise. The computer on her mom’s desk still showed the green square on the black screen, the white triangle protecting the hideous Lanna video. Now Brileen was saying there was also a video of her, Tenley, somewhere? And her father had been killed trying to get it?
That couldn’t be.
It couldn’t. Tenley had never, ever, ever—so why was the Hugh guy saying there was video? Why did her father have to die? There was nothing to protect her from!
“Honey? Honey? I’m right here.” Her mom grabbed her by both arms. Her forehead creased, eyebrows pushed together. “Why is it your fault, honey?”
“Because…” Tears streamed down her face, her own failure mocking her again. “Because if I had pushed Save on the surveillance computer sooner, like I wanted to, we might have seen this whole thing. On video.” The last words came out a wail. That stupid Ward Dahlstrom, if he hadn’t hovered, he’d never have known, never have pushed Cancel, and maybe, maybe, maybe they’d be able to see who killed her father.
They’d catch him, and kill him back.
She tried to explain all of this to her mother, who should have understood. And to Brileen, who was clueless about the video save, and the cache, and the twenty seconds, even though Bri had her laptop with her all the time and knew about computer stuff. It didn’t matter. It was gone, all of the evidence was gone.
She made it through the whole explanation, finally, her throat clogging. Even though Mom had said she loved her, she wouldn’t anymore, not after this. Tenley hadn’t told about Lanna’s boyfriend. And now her father was dead and they’d never be able to find out who did it.
“Now we’ll never know.” Tenley’s words caught in her sobs. “And I never got to say good-bye. He thought I was mad at him. And I was, because he was always upset, or mad, or gone. And then it turns out he was upset because—”
“He loved you, Tenner,” Mom said. “The last thing he told me was how much he did. He knew you loved him, too.”
The room went quiet. Mom clicked her computer to solid black, took out the stupid thumb drive, put it in her skirt pocket. Brileen moved to sit in Mom’s guest chair, her hands covering her face, only the top of her hair showing.
“Hey, Brileen?” Tenley mentally replayed what happened, yet again. “You knew me yesterday, out there. In Curley Park. You pretended you didn’t, but you did. The whole last night, you were pretending.”
Mom looked at her, then Brileen, then her. “What are you talking about? Pretending? Last night?”
Tenley took a deep breath. She talked to the floor, to the familiar tan carpeting, so she wouldn’t lose her nerve. “I went to Brileen’s last night, Mom. I kind of sneaked out, after you were gone, and Brileen picked me up. I was gonna leave. Because Dad was hating me and you hated me and always blamed me for Lanna.”
There. That was it, it was out, and whatever. She felt lighter.
Mom crossed the room and wrapped Tenley up in her arms, so tight Tenley could feel the little round buttons on her blouse, and smell that white soap she used, and her grapefruit perfume, and her mom’s metal watchband pressing into her back.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” she whispered.
“Shh,” her mom’s voice went into her hair.
* * *
Catherine was never going to let her daughter go. She would never let her out of her sight again. Never let her talk to anyone else, ever again. Never let her come back to City Hall. All her power, all her control. When real life interfered, it proved how little it mattered.
Still. It was all politics. Some people were in power, others weren’t. Some people took the power and tried to use it to control the weaker ones.
Catherine refused to be a weak on
e. She and her daughter would be strong. They had no choice.
If the mayor’s secret taping came out, he’d have to take his political lumps. Brileen—arms crossed, now sitting on the windowsill—seemed to have the answers.
“Did ‘Hugh’ give these so-called pictures of Tenley to my husband?”
She heard her own words muffled by her daughter’s hair, the dark strands she’d seen every day for the last eighteen years. Funny how she had stopped looking at her, except to criticize, or demand, or question. As Tenley and Lanna grew older, they’d separated, come into their own. Apparently, each of them kept secrets. Lanna’s had died with her, Catherine had always believed. Now, maybe, that wasn’t completely true.
“Brileen? Did he?” She settled Tenley into her own desk chair, standing behind her, both hands on her daughter’s shoulders as if to keep her from floating away.
Brileen tilted her head back, gazed at the ceiling’s swirls of white stucco. “I don’t know,” she said. “That’s why I wanted Tenley out of her house, especially after she said you were gone. I’m sorry, Tenley, but what if Hugh had shown up? Found you alone, and threatened you? He called me, so angry. I felt I like had to get you away. I—couldn’t protect Lanna. I had to at least try to protect you.”
Catherine blinked at Brileen, imagining. Her Tenley, alone with a blackmailer. What might he have demanded she do to hand over that video?
What video?
There was a way to find out. A fast way. A terrible way, but a way.
She clicked open her purse. Pulled out her wallet. Slipped a finger under the very last credit card slot and pulled out a thin white business card. That detective, Jake Brogan, had printed his cell phone number on the back of it along with the number for Sergeant Kiyoko Naka in the Missing Persons department. She stared at the black felt-tip numbers that meant the end of her career.
She could hear the silence of the room, thick with expectation. She might never work here again. Or anywhere. Would that matter?
“Mom?” Her daughter’s voice reached her. Her beautiful daughter, whose life had been trampled by circumstance and politics. Could politics have motivated these attacks on her family? “What are you doing?”
Her intercom buzzed. “Catherine? I’m back at my desk.”
Siobhan Hult. Back from her made-up mission to Ward Dahlstrom, a man probably counting his blessings he hadn’t been able to oust her from the chief of staff job. Heavy lies the head, Catherine thought. And now he’ll be happy it’s my head that’s about to roll. She had to move fast.
“Thank you, Siobhan.” Catherine kept her voice chipper, professional.
She pulled out her cell.
“Who are you calling?” Tenley asked.
“Everything is going to be all right,” Catherine said for the second time that morning.
Again, she hoped it was true.
57
It was almost funny.
“See her?” Jane pointed at the monitor. For reassurance, she snaked her arm through Jake’s, her bare skin on his leather jacket. No one could see them, and this was a moment of swirling relief.
Gracie was safe. Not kidnapped. Not missing. Not dead. Jane had found her.
“That’s in the—gift shop?” Jake leaned forward toward the screen.
Jane didn’t let go, leaning toward the revealing video along with him. “Yup. Poor little thing. Let’s go get her.”
Jake reached for his radio, extricating her with a final pat. “I’ll call off the search. Good work, honey. And I think there’s a reward. A personal one.”
“Can’t wait.” She tried not to cry. This was a good thing.
Jane had seen a flicker on the screen first. A movement in row one, monitor three, according to the schematic. When she had looked again, the shot had changed. She’d kept her eye on the screen, listening to Jake at the same time.
“All clear on the BOLO,” he said. “Return to base.”
When the shot flipped again, Jane saw that unmistakable curly hair. The top of a little face. And then the yellow ruffles, looking gray in the black-and-white. The small figure rose, tentatively, from behind a metal-and-glass display case in the gift shop. Her face looked a little smudged. All the transmissions were fuzzy, but Jane got the picture. Gracie Wilhoite, row one, monitor three, was in the hotel. In the gift shop, where she’d apparently hidden behind the candy counter. And she looked fine.
“I’ll go get her right now,” Jane said. “Bring her to—oh. No.”
“What?” Jake said.
Jane envisioned that scene. “I can’t go. She’s terrified of me. I’m the reason she ran away. That moron Wilhoite apparently never told her—”
“Ah, I get it. You’re the child molester. Awesome.” Jake shook his head, then turned a switch on his radio again. “Okay, then. At least I can update the troops that the bad guy is in custody. How far away are your sister and Daniel?”
“In traffic,” Jane said. “Who knows?”
On the bank of monitors, the screen shots kept changing. Every third time, she calculated, the Gracie view came up.
“We can’t leave her there,” Jane said. “You have to go. She’ll be so frightened. Who knows what she heard or what she saw. The lobby is empty. I can at least keep an eye on her now, thanks to Hewlitt Security.”
“What?” Jake said.
“I mean I wonder what she was thinking, all that time. It’s been, what, half an hour? Poor child, did some adults just leave her behind? Ran away from the shooter, ignored the little girl? Anyway, go. You have to go get her. Look. There she is.”
The third cycle of video came around again. Gracie now appeared in front of the counter, a dark smear of something down her front. She stood, fussing with the ruffles on her dress, as if deciding what to do. She pointed one foot out in front of her, in her white shoe. Then switched to the other foot. Wearing just a white sock. Then the shoe. Then she turned back toward the counter, and—the shot changed again.
“You. Have. To go.” Jane didn’t take her eyes off the screen. No way were they going to lose Gracie now. “What do you mean, what? You’re a police officer, you’re not stranger danger. She’s got to know about police, and badges, right? Or should you call someone in uniform? A woman, maybe?”
“Jane,” Jake said. “The security. You said the name of the security company.”
“So what?” Jane said. “Hewlitt. It’s on the binder. Now go get Gracie.”
* * *
“Gracie? I’m Jake. I’m a police officer, even though I have on regular clothes.”
He stood in the doorway of the hotel gift shop, looking at the candy counter, where he knew the girl was once again hiding. Jane had kept him updated on Gracie’s whereabouts over their cell phones. As soon as he’d approached the shop’s open door, the child had scuttled behind her protective chrome and glass. He flipped open his wallet, held it up facing the counter. Hewlitt Security, he thought. But first, Gracie. “Here’s my badge, see? You recognize a police badge?”
No reply.
“Gracie?” Jake started again. “I know what happened. I know you must be scared. A woman came up to you, right? Well, we’ve talked to her, and everything is just fine. It’s all a misunderstanding. Her name is Jane, and she’s a good person. A friend of mine. And she really truly is a friend of your—” Jake paused. Who was the good guy here? Lewis? Robyn? “Family,” he said.
Nothing.
“Jane came to take you home.” This was turning into a disaster. He couldn’t go back and pull the girl out from behind her safety shield of candy and souvenirs. She’d freak. There was no reason to put her through that. Surely he could sweet-talk a nine-year-old out of hiding.
“Gracie? Listen, okay? I know you’re going to be a flower girl in a wedding, in Illinois. This weekend. Your dad, Daniel, is the groom, and he’s marrying Melissa, right? And I think you lost your shoe in the lobby. I know exactly where it is. You could be like Cinderella.”
A shift in the silence. Ja
ke could almost feel the little girl considering.
“My daddy told me not to talk to strangers.” Her determined voice piped up from behind the cash register.
“Very good advice.” Progress. Jake continued to display his badge, took a step forward. “Good for you. But I’m a police officer, and that’s different.”
“And my parents always told me to yell and run and hide and if I was ever scared by a stranger,” Gracie went on. “So I did.”
“Very good,” Jake said. “And they’re right.”
She’d appear any minute now. He hoped. Thank God he wasn’t outstubborned by a kid. Jake’s phone was buzzing in his pocket, but he’d have to ignore it. He’d get Jane down here, introduce Gracie, smooth out any misunderstandings and make sure all was well, then figure out what to do from there.
“I know you’re a policeman,” Gracie said.
“Good girl.” Jake’s phone vibrated again. Gracie could go with Melissa and Daniel. Lewis was already in the hospital. Robyn was in custody. Gracie would have to be protected from that quagmire, at least as much as anyone could protect her. But it seemed like Jake was emerging victorious. One step at a time. He took one more. Closer.
“But Mr. Police?” Gracie said.
“Yes, honey?”
“I need my shoe. And I’m not coming out until you get my daddy.”
* * *
“Jake, they’re here.” Jake couldn’t answer his phone, so Jane texted, hoping he’d look. Melissa and Daniel had arrived, but the police at the door had stopped them. She’d seen Jake in the gift shop by way of the surveillance camera, seen that Gracie hadn’t budged from behind the counter. Whatever he was saying to her, it obviously wasn’t very convincing.
“M & D,” she continued her text to Jake. “Tell goons to let them in.”
In seconds the three were running toward the gift shop, Daniel in the lead, Melissa and Jane close behind. She’d filled them in on Lewis and Robyn—as much as she could—but all they said was “Gracie. Take us to Gracie.”
Jake stepped aside to let Daniel through the door.
What You See Page 30